


Murder Be Thy Name

by Jaakkola



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Animal Attack, Blood and Violence, Established Relationship, Fights, Harm to Animals, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Lives, Past Relationship(s), Plague, Self-Sacrifice, Subterfuge, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24845971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaakkola/pseuds/Jaakkola
Summary: Shaw and Flynn find themselves in over their heads in an attempt to get vital information in hunting down Sylvanas Windrunner, and Shaw takes one for the Alliance.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw, Nathanos Blightcaller/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Murder Be Thy Name

**Author's Note:**

> Song of the day, the one the title is from. [American Murder Song - Murder! Murder!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nnmAsCr4Rjg) Trying to find more songs for my Shaw playlist, and murder ballads work rather well in my opinion.

"Another relic successfully recovered for cataloging," Fairwind remarked with a grin as the two returned to their camp. He tossed the bag down by the tent and stretched his arms out over his head. "You better be careful, Shaw, or the Explorer's League is gonna come for you for running them out of a job."

Shaw was only half listening to Fairwind as he looked around the camp. He felt something was wrong, an instinct that has got him this far with life and limb intact, but yet the cursory glance over told him everything was fine. Nothing scuffed out of place, no tracks from around their little camp that weren't their's, and nothing out of the ordinary.

Perhaps, Shaw thought as he looked up to the moons above, doing their best to shine their light on the silver-barked trees through the thick clouds, the darkness of Silvergrove was getting to him. The chance that feral worgen still rampaged through the forest was low, but never zero, and Bloodfang's people were never particularly friendly in the first place, but there shouldn't be anything in the area making Shaw feel like there was something lurking out of view.

Which, of course, made him more on edge.

"I'd say this is cause for celebration," Fairwind continued, and after a moment, he was pressing against Shaw's back with a hum.

"If I knew relic requisition would elicit such a consistent response from you, I would have brought someone else for the job," Shaw said, continuing to glance around.

Fairwind made a noise of exaggerated offense, saying, "you say that like you aren't as consistent as I am, Master Shaw." He bent his head down, murmuring in Shaw's ear, "something wrong?"

The thick cluster of pine trees that concealed their camp now felt like it hid too much from Shaw. "Do you feel eyes on us?" Shaw asked, matching his volume.

Fairwind snorted. "I felt eyes on us since we've entered this forest."

Perhaps Shaw's paranoia and the atmosphere of the forest were finally getting to him. He rubbed at his face and sighed. "We'll leave in the morning."

Fairwind nuzzled at Shaw, and Shaw turned to catch his lips in a kiss. Fairwind made a delighted noise at this, moving around Shaw the best he can while keeping his mouth against Shaw's. He grabbed Shaw by the hips, and Shaw's bout of paranoia was momentarily put aside as Fairwind lead him back to the tent.

At the start of their artifact hunting excursions, they had been sleeping in separate tents, but the other tent had stopped being set up when they moved camp as their relationship had steadily progressed into something decidedly unprofessional. Fortunately, Shaw was technically not on call for SI:7 during this recovery expedition, so strict professionalism could be set aside for the time being.

There was something to be said about Fairwind; his wide and genuine smile that stretched across his face, his broad shoulders and strong build that was well-toned from years of seafaring, and his easy-going attitude that let him roll with the worst life threw at him, for a start. Shaw was never one to wax poetics, at one point even making fun of Baros Alexston's fondness of doing so about nearly everything back in his youth, but as he straddled Fairwind in their small tent, who held onto his hips and looked up at him like he was something worth looking at, he began to understand why people did it.

Shaw shucked off his gloves and reached a hand down to cup Fairwind's face, dragging a thumb across his lips. He pushed a kiss to his thumb-tip, and Shaw bent down to close the gap between them. The corners of Fairwind's mouth turned up into a lazy grin as the two came together in a crash of lips and teeth. He's warm against Shaw, with his neglected stubble scratching at Shaw's face, and it's—

Shaw abruptly jerked himself away from Fairwind, his gut telling him something was wrong as he swore he heard something out beyond their tent, but not beyond their camp. He turned his head to look over his shoulder and stilled, seeing nothing other than the burned out embers of the campfire and the dark shadows of the dense forest beyond that.

"What's up?" Fairwind whispered to him.

"We're being watched," Shaw replied, leaning down to Fairwind so his voice was hardly loud enough to even be considered a whisper.

Fairwind took a moment to consider this, and then another moment to think of something, before reaching in between him and Shaw to his belt, pulling his concealed flintlock free. "Oh, Spymaster, you're so experienced in everything you do," he said, rather loudly considering what Shaw just told him, with an expression that pleaded, _play along._ "Bet you could show me a thing or two, huh?"

Shaw couldn't stop the bizarre amalgamation of emotion from coloring his expression, confusion mixing with mild amusement as he looked down at Fairwind. He hummed in affirmation, for Fairwind's sake, before whispering, "I've heard you talk dirty better than that."

"I don't want to embarrass you in front of an assassin, y'know," Fairwind returned, as if he was being merciful.

"Too late," Shaw muttered as he rested a hand on the pommel of his dagger. Regardless, Fairwind had a decent plan, and he continued the charade of them being caught unawares, breathing heavy as he tried to follow the movement of whoever was out there. Whoever it was, they were good at stalking prey, but not good enough. He mentally mapped out how they were crossing the camp, and gripped his dagger tighter.

Shaw was startled by Fairwind suddenly throwing an arm around Shaw and pulling him flush against his chest. His pistol fired off from behind Shaw, loud in the relative silence of the forest. Shaw pushed off from Fairwind, spinning himself around and drawing a dagger as he lunged out of the tent. From across the camp, the red eyes of a hooded elf glared at him, baring her fangs as she drew a sword. Shaw stayed low as he crossed the small camp, ducking away from a desperate swing and throwing his weight into her.

There wasn't much muscle left to the elf; Shaw pinned her down easily and held his dagger to her throat. "Where?" He growled, noting Fairwind's presence as he joined the two, pistol in hand.

"You can't make me talk," she replied, "I don't fear death."

Shaw knew she was right, and with a scowl, slashed her throat. Her eyes widen as she choked on her breath. He pulled away, noting the blood on his hands with disgust, and watched her until her movement ceased.

"Well, that was a mood killer," Fairwind surmised, and then, "what kind of elf even _is_ that?"

"The undead kind," Shaw said with a grimace, checking for pockets.

"Aren't all the undead elves—"

"Only some are loyal to Sylvanas Windrunner, but yes."

Fairwind sucked in a breath through his teeth and nudged at the elf with the toe of his boot. "You think it's just Horde?"

"Unlikely." Silverpine Forest was ceded to the Alliance, and with the forsaken focused on rebuilding, the thought of a dark ranger stalking through the forests was not entirely unrealistic, but they were already on thin ice with the Horde as is. Risking that as members of the Horde would be insane.

"Why are they here? Following us?"

Shaw sighed as a pocket came up empty. "That's the question of the day, isn't it?" Another pocket held a small knife and some twine. "Could you do a quick look around to make sure there isn't anyone else around?"

"Aye aye."

"Oh, and Fairwind?"

Fairwind hummed questioningly.

Shaw's eyes were on the bullet wound. It tore through her thigh, and would have made retreat impossible for her. "Good shot."

"Oh, thank you," Fairwind replied. "Though it was a bit of a cheap shot."

"Not any cheaper than striking us with our pants down." Shaw ran a hand along the chestpiece, noticing an unnatural raise over the midriff. He cuts into the scaled armor with his dagger, pulling it apart and finding a small, folded piece of parchment hidden within the protection. He unfolded it, scowling to find it in Thalassian.

He knew it, of course, it was one of the first languages he learned, but he wasn't the greatest at translating the written word of it. The subtle nuances between written Darnassian and Thalassian tended to be lost on Shaw, leading to rather clunky translations. He didn't have much of a choice in translating it, unless Fairwind had a hidden fondness for the language, which left him kneeling over a long dead corpse as he tried to parse the hastily written note.

It seemed to be a rather hopeless task, as he was still at it when Fairwind came in. "Nothing of any concern around," he said, "find something interesting?"

Shaw blew out a frustrated breath in response. "Note in Thalassian."

Fairwind walked over to him and knelt down to look over Shaw's shoulder. After a moment, he scoffed. "Not coherent Thalassian."

Shaw lowered the letter and turned to look at Fairwind with complete incredulous.

"I've got high elves in the family," he shrugged, answering the unsaid question.

"You've—" Shaw stopped himself with a shake of his head. "Not important. How well versed are you in it?"

"Enough to tell that the letter is full of Drustvar pigshite." Fairwind crossed his arms.

"How so?"

"Elves write Thalassian in a specific way," Fairwind explained, "dunno the specifics of it, but you can tell the age of an elf by how they write." Fairwind pointed a finger to the paper. "We're either dealing with a toddler, or..."

"Or someone who isn't an elf," Shaw finished. He almost wished for the former to be the case.

"Thing is, it's still a load of gibberish," Fairwind said with a shrug. "The words are in Thalassian, yeah, but it's not in an actual sentence."

"Do you think it's encoded?"

Fairwind shrugged, though how much was relative apathy and how much was genuine unknowing was anyone's guess.

Shaw bit back a sigh, trying to stem his frustration. He handed the letter to Fairwind. "What are the words?"

Fairwind took the letter and gave it a look over. He took his tongue between his teeth in thought, silence breeding between the two, before he finally spoke. "There's... forest, watch, wall, keep—"

"Keep, as in?"

"I dunno, like castle?"

Shaw scowled and rose to his feet. "Get your things."

"What? Why?" Fairwind asked, folding up the letter.

"I know who wrote the letter."

"Oh? We heading off to scold him on his grammar?"

"He knows Thalassian, he just also knows how to make message that's hard to nail down."

"Not for you," Fairwind complimented.

It was Shaw's turn to scoff. "I can't read Thalassian. By the time I got this translated, he'd likely be long gone." He looked to Fairwind. "This was entirely luck and coincidence; the ranger slipping up and revealing her position, the fact she had a note at all, and the fact that you were here to translate it." Shaw moved to the tent, searching for where his gloves were discarded. "I doubt we'll have another chance until they play their hand."

"Wait, what are you saying?" Fairwind asked with a surprising amount of concern suddenly coloring his tone.

"Someone close to Sylvanas Windrunner is in Silverpine." Shaw pulled his gloves on. "And we're going to figure out why."

* * *

"Y'know, I distinctly remember this _not_ being in the job description," Fairwind quipped as the two climbed the hill that Shadowfang Keep rested on.

Shaw frowned, both at what Fairwind said, and that the pretense of being covert about this was already falling apart. "Yes it was."

"No, it was strictly artifact and relic recovery. Shiny and powerful stuff that would cost a pretty copper... if we were actually selling this stuff," Fairwind replied, adamant. "This does not fall under that, this falls under "dangerous war nonsense I don't want to be apart of.""

Fairwind may have had a point; searching a long-fought over manor for any clues for political and military reasons was not apart of what Shaw had originally summoned him to Stormwind for. Or why he had to trek out to Boralus a week later when he hadn't gotten so much as an acknowledgement from the Kul Tiran for a response.

"Me?" Fairwind had asked with wide-eyed astonishment, as if he didn't genuinely believe that Shaw was being serious both then and in his summons, "why? Don't you have people trained in stealing things?"

"I've been assigned to this, and all my agents already have orders." Shaw had explained, not bothering to correct Fairwind's wording. "I know you're a capable man, despite how you like to hold yourself, and I will need some assistance with this."

Fairwind, putting merit towards Shaw's words, had tilted his head with thought. _"You've been assigned,"_ he echoed. "By who? The king?"

Shaw's lips and patience thinned. "Yes."

"He giving you a little vacation with this?"

In the spirit of disclosure, Shaw said, "he believes that he injured my pride earlier this year, and is trying to make up for it."

"Did he?"

Shaw had only scoffed in response.

In Fairwind's defense, he had suppressed his smile the best he could, trying to disguise his laughter as a sharp exhale. "Alright, alright, I'll bite," he had relented.

Now, Shaw drew a dagger as they reached the opened gateway. "You can stay out here, alone, if you'd rather."

"Nope, nope, I'll come with ya," Fairwind said after a moment of predictable internal discussion. "Don't want to have to fish you out later, after all."

Shaw decided to let Fairwind believe that. "Do try to keep it down," he said instead, "I don't know what to expect."

"Pep talks aren't your thing, are they?" Fairwind said, but didn't continue. If that was because he was following Shaw's orders, or if it was from being made speechless from the pile of worgen corpses that was tucked away and out of sight from the immediate entrance of the keep was anyone's guess.

With the Fourth War's ending, the Gilneans had reclaimed Shadowfang Keep; that must not have lasted long. Shaw looked over the corpses, seeing broken arrows embedded within many, as well as strange slash marks that Shaw couldn't immediately identify the weapon used to make them. It was reminiscent of the circular saws on the goblin shredder.

Shaw followed the blood trails extending from the pile with his gaze, seeing the largest one cross the courtyard and into the manor. He motioned for Fairwind to follow, and the two traversed through the keep's strange shadows, past two large blight containers on either side of the courtyard. If they were brought in recently, or leftovers from the Fourth War waiting for proper disposal, Shaw didn't know.

The bloody trail led into the kitchen, and Shaw peered through the doorway before deciding against going through that way, instead going up the cobblestone ramp that led to a side passage into the manor. Fairwind was on his heels as the two weaved their way through the manor.

"Who bloody made this," Fairwind grumbled as they crossed over manor's wall walk. "Architectural nightmare, if y' ask me."

"Quiet," Shaw hushed as the two dipped back inside, heading down the spiral stairs that lead into a stock room of sorts. With a quick scan of the room being empty, the two made their way through, following the strange walkways that let to another spiral staircase, this time leading up.

A door stood at the top of the staircase, slightly ajar. Shaw pushed the door open slightly, peering inside. It was the laboratory, and it was empty of any people or corpses. He slipped inside and Fairwind, less gracefully, squeezed through after him with a squeak of the door. Shaw crossed over to the desk, finding several documents scattered across it. Maps that were marked with shorthand, missives from unnamed senders, and hastily scrawled notes that Shaw couldn't translate at a glance all laid on it. There was much to sift through, and not enough time to do so. Frustrating.

"Hand me the bag," Shaw said, making a beckoning gesture. Fairwind joined him over by the table, looked at its contents, seemed immediately bored with what was on it, and shrugged the messenger bag before handing it to Shaw. Shaw took it, eyebrows raising in question at the heft of the bag. "What's—" he peered inside the bag, seeing the priceless worgen artifact that they had recovered earlier today still nestled inside. "Captain," Shaw started, looking up at Fairwind, "why in the Light's name did you bring this with?"

Fairwind, from where he stood to poke at strange knickknacks on a bookshelf nearby, looked over his shoulder with a mild amount of confusion. "Was I supposed to leave it unattended?"

"Why would you think that bringing an unknown relic was a good idea to bring this to Shadowfang Keep?"

Fairwind turned fully to Shaw, confusion growing. "What does that _mean?"_

Shaw opened his mouth to ask if Fairwind had really never heard of the stories of Shadowfang Keep, as nearly everyone in the Eastern Kingdoms have at least heard the ghost stories of the place, before he closed his mouth with realization that Kul Tiras had distanced themselves around the same time that the worgen curse had became a problem, which would have been some time before any folk stories spread about it. "I suppose you... wouldn't know," Shaw said. "My apologies, Captain."

Fairwind looked surprised about the apology, but didn't comment on it. "What's with this place anyway?"

"Feral worgens lived here in a cult from my understanding, controlled by a powerful mage that went crazy."

"Oh good," Fairwind said in a voice that stated he was not okay with knowing that information.

Shaw looked back into the bag. "I'm surprised the relic hasn't reacted in anyway due to it being here."

"Yeah, you can hold onto that from now on," Fairwind said, turning back to rifle through the bookshelf's contents.

Shaw threw the messenger bag's strap over his shoulder as he focused on the maps at first, frowning deep as he tried to recognize the landmass on one of them. It certainly wasn't Eastern Kingdoms, and it didn't look like any place in Kalimdor... perhaps a mountainous island? Fairwind begun to pace around the room as he studied them.

Northrend, he realized rather suddenly; it was a crude depiction, but it was no doubt the frozen wasteland to the north. Nothing good was in Northrend, and the thought of Windrunner's few forces being focused on it for any reason was an unwelcome one. He shifted his focus to a different map, recognizing it immediately as a properly made map of Zandalar. Nazmir was heavily marked up, as well as Dazar'alor. Notes in Thalassian were footnoted throughout it in any open space available. Fairwind stopped somewhere behind Shaw as he shifted focus.

The correspondence were all in Thalassian, unfortunately. Several different penmanship styles indicated several different people sending messages to, presumably, the Blightcaller. There was a distinct chance that Blightcaller wasn't actually here, rather a trusted ranger or someone else. "Could you translate these?" Shaw asked.

"Shaw," was all Fairwind said.

The two had been traveling long enough for Shaw to know what that meant. He turned to Fairwind, and followed his gaze up to the loft walkway of the conservatory. Glaring down at them was a manged, rotting hound, irradiated green from blight with a cruel snarl of the teeth.

Blightcaller _was_ here, then.

"Don't let it bite you," Shaw said under his breath, moving slowly to gather up the documents. The blighthound growled as Fairwind reached for the desk chair. 

"We running?" Fairwind asked, breathing out the words in a whisper.

The blighthound growled louder.

Shaw, now with the documents in his arms, looked back to Fairwind. Fairwind stood squarely between him and the blighthound, armed with a chair and whatever in the Light's name he was thinking of doing with it. "You have a better idea?"

"I'm fine with running," Fairwind assured.

Shaw looked back up at the blighthound. "Good."

The blighthound started barking, loudly, and Shaw jammed the papers into the bag. It ran and jumped towards the two, and Fairwind raised the chair up as an improvised shield. The mutt got caught in the chair legs, snapping determinedly at Fairwind before the ex-pirate was using his strength to hurl both the hound and his chair across the room. The chair shattered as it hit the ground, and Fairwind was gripping Shaw by the forearm to pull him towards the exit.

It was a relatively amusing thing Fairwind did, trying to pull Shaw out of harm's way, considering Shaw tended to be faster on his feet. _I've been doing this sort of thing for a while, Captain,_ Shaw had said after the fourth time Fairwind had done so. Fairwind had just laughed in response. _Help never hurt anyone, I say._ And then, to further justify it, either to Shaw or to himself, _it's an old habit._ Shaw didn't push, for it didn't really matter.

Fairwind threw the door open and ran out, while Shaw caught the door by its handle and pulled it closed behind him, leaving the blighthound trapped inside. Fairwind turned back to look at Shaw as the hound started barking on the other side. "What are the chances that there's only one?" He asked.

"Zero," Shaw said, and more barking followed his words, echoing from further within the keep.

"Y'ever get tired of being right?" Fairwind asked with a wide grin.

"When it comes to you, yes."

Fairwind tipped his head back and cackled, and they both took off down the spiraling staircase. They ran back into the stockroom, quickly sliding to a halt upon seeing two more blighthounds traversing the rickety stairs, barking loud. "Oh tides," Fairwind grumbled.

"C'mon," Shaw said, grabbing onto the walkway railing and pulling himself up and onto it. Fairwind followed his lead as the blighthounds spotted them, picking up both their volume and their pace as they rushed to hunt them down. As soon as they reached the wooden walkway, Shaw slipped off the railing and to the ground, rolling with his momentum; he was long past the age where he could let his knees take the brunt of a fall. Fairwind followed him down, landing on his feet with a rough grunt.

The two were sprinting out and back onto the wall walk, blighted dogs barking as they chased them down. Shaw pulled two throwing daggers, looking back behind towards the hounds. He slowed for a moment to steady himself before throwing one of the daggers. The blighthound closest to him yelped, sliding to a halt and whining. He threw the second towards the other blighthound, but that one was prepared for it, ducking down low with a snarl. Shaw cursed under his breath and kept running. "Flynn!" He warned.

The hound snapped at Fairwind's heels, making Fairwind exclaim with terror. He pulled his pistol from his waistband and spun on his heel, firing as the blighthound lunged for him. With a sickening sound, the blighthound collapsed to the ground, and the two kept running.

They didn't stop running until they reached the manor's chapel, putting a great distance between them and the blighthounds in case they suddenly got up again. "I hate the mainland," Fairwind panted out, fumbling to reload his flintlock. "I've just decided."

Shaw ignored the comment. "You injured?"

Fairwind shook his head.

"Good. Let's get moving," Shaw said. "If those here didn't know of us before, they do now."

"In my defense—"

"I'm not blaming you," Shaw cut him off. "Come on."

The two took a slower pace now within the keep's halls, the old wooden floors prone to creaking with new weight. They hugged the walls as they moved, careful, cautious. The remains of previous residents of these walls, nothing more than skeletons now, littered the walkways with broken furniture and cobwebs.

There were sounds from the dining hall as they crossed the stairs down to it, and Shaw picked up the pace to turn the corner. He pushed himself flat against the wall, pulling Fairwind across him and clamping a hand over Fairwind's mouth. He ignored the cocked eyebrow in his direction and slowed his breathing.

Someone bounded up the stairs the two just passed, walking out into the hall and hesitating. The floorboards creaked, heavy boots crossing the floor towards them before coming out a stop, just out of view of the corner turn. Shaw lowered a hand to his dagger pommel. There was the sound of an arrow being drawn from it's quiver, nocked against a bowstring. Seconds of painful silence followed, drenched with anticipation followed.

There was howling from a hound, the sound working its way from the ramparts. A moment follows, before whoever waited just around the corner cursed under their breath and headed the other direction, boots stomping down to the other end of hall and back the way the two came.

Shaw removed his hand from Fairwind's mouth and nudged him forward, and wordlessly, they continued onward.

They reached the end of the hallway, and Shaw stopped, glancing out the doorway to the courtyard. The torches that lit the wall walk when they crossed it had gone out, a bad omen. "Something wrong?" Fairwind asked.

"We've pinned ourselves," Shaw said.

"How so?"

Shaw turned to Fairwind. "If I am correct in my assumption, there is currently one of the best rangers in Azeroth currently perched on the wall walk, most likely pissed because we've just gravely injured two of his mutts, and he knows that our only way out is through that courtyard."

"There's not another way out?"

Shaw shook his head. "The keep is perched on a cliff. Climbing out a window would just lead to a long fall and, at best, a quick death at the bottom." Shaw rubbed at his face, glancing around the courtyard. "You're quick on your feet, Captain, how would you approach this situation?"

"What is this, a test?" Fairwind asked.

"Deliberation," Shaw corrected. "I've heard you confer with your first mate and quartermaster just the same as any commander does with strategists. You may hold the facade that you're a fool well, but after how long we've traveled together, you'd actually be a fool to think I believed it, especially after tonight." Shaw turned back to Fairwind. "You are a sharp man, Captain, and the situation isn't straightforward. I want your input on it and how you'd approach it."

Fairwind looked at Shaw with an expression muddled with bewilderment and mild insult, but he did not voice anything he was feeling. He simply moved around Shaw to examine the courtyard, silent with thought. "If we're to rush out, we'd certainly to be shot," Shaw supplied.

"And what's wrong with stealth?"

"Again, if my assumption is correct, this man excels at seeing the unseen. He has singlehandedly killed more of my agents than I care to admit. I rather not test our luck with such a thing today."

Fairwind looked out into the darkness, trying to spy any movement from the wall walk. "What's my chances of shooting the bastard?"

Shaw narrowed his eyes. "Say you do hit him on this moonless night in the first place. I don't believe you'll achieve anything other than delaying the time it takes an arrow to pierce you by a few seconds."

With a huff, Fairwind turned to Shaw. "What do you want from me, Shaw?" Fairwind asked. He looked ashamed and angry about it. "I'm not a strategist. I know how to board ships and minimizing risks involved with that. I know how to haul cargo and what routes to travel to avoid anyone who'd inquire about what I haul."

"You broke our champion out of prison," Shaw pointed out, "I can hardly see what ship life has to do with such a thing."

"That's not—"

"Perhaps I've been misunderstood," Shaw interrupted. "My agents have been hunted down and killed by this man. Those agents were trained by my methods, so one can assume that he could predict anything I'd think of in effort of trying to escape unnoticed." Shaw clasped his hands together behind his back. "You are the farthest you could be from SI:7 trained as a rogue. You come to conclusions I would never piece together, and I can't match your thought process.

"I'm not asking this to shame or frustrate you, Flynn," he said. "We are pinned down and there is not a damned thing I could do to remedy this. I'm asking for your insight so we perhaps make it out of this situation without arrow wounds."

Fairwind worked his jaw before turning away from Shaw, towards the courtyard. He was silent for a moment, pressing his knuckles to his mouth while in thought. "Why do we need to go through the courtyard?"

Shaw frowned. "We've discussed this—"

"I know why," Fairwind said, "but what's stopping us from turning around and giving him a good ol' Freehold hello on the wall walk?"

Clever. Shaw thought it over. "Depending on where he's standing, he'd still be in a position to pick us off before we can reach him, and I doubt he'd be somewhere favorable to us."

"Aren't we stealthy rogues?" Fairwind asked, turning to Shaw.

"And he's trained in finding stealthy rogues."

Fairwind rubbed at his chin, turning his head to look back. "How good are these eyes of this bloke, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Surely, he can't see everything."

"Of course not."

"Given a proper cover, we should be fine, correct?"

Shaw raised an eyebrow. "What cover are you suggesting?"

"Well, you said to not play the fool, so I won't." Fairwind shrugged, pointing back over his shoulder. "Blight; it kills you, but not if you don't breathe it in. It's mostly a liquid, but it can mix in the air when jostled, creates a rather dense fog, and I reckon a bullet will jostle it quite well. I say we cover our faces, I shoot the blight containers, and we run through."

If Shaw was a more expressive man, he'd say that he was amazed. "So you _were_ listening to Steelspark's briefings."

"I don't listen to everything you guys say, but I've certainly been listening to more than one may think."

Shaw was under no illusions to what Fairwind did. He was genuinely foolish at times, yes, and was poor in picking his moments, but there was always more to him than he let on. It shined through at times, his competency, breaking through while sailing or plotting, but never long enough for most people to catch on. Shaw noticed, and it was why when he was met with the need for someone to back him up with something, his first thought went to Fairwind.

"One problem," Shaw said. "I don't have something to cover my face with."

"That's the only problem?" Fairwind asked.

"It's dangerous and risky, but no more than any of the other ideas are." Shaw conceded. "It's not bad, either."

Fairwind smiled, pulling off his kerchief and handing it to Shaw. "Problem solved, then." Shaw looked him over before taking it. "I'll be wanting that back."

"I'll only hold onto it for the moment," Shaw said with a nod. Fairwind pulled his pistol, looking to the blight containers in the courtyard. He breathed in, shot Shaw a wink, and peeked out from behind the corner to shoot at the farthest blight container. It exploded, glass shattering and blight hissing as it spilled out on the ground and burned the air. One of the hounds started barking from the wall walk. "Pull back," Shaw ordered.

Fairwind returned to the relative safety of the corner as an arrow sung by, smashing into the stony wall of the keep. "Huh, testy," he remarked as he reloaded.

"We incapacitated his hounds."

 _"Incapacitated,"_ Fairwind repeated with a Stormwindian accent. He had been perfecting it over the course of their travels, to Shaw's growing annoyance. "Dunno about you, mate, but the one I shot is a bit more than that."

"All the more reason for him to kill you."

Fairwind considered that for a moment before he shrugged. He poked his head out before immediately reeling back, narrowly avoiding another arrow before swinging himself back out and shooting the other blight container. He joined Shaw back behind cover, and a few seconds later an arrow came closer, still missing and jamming into the wall. "How terrible is blight?"

"I don't know from personal experience, but the reports I've been given say that it will be entirely unpleasant to withstand."

"It can't be that bad," Fairwind said, most likely just to be contrary.

"Lead the way then," Shaw nodded before covering his lower face with Fairwind's scarf. It still somehow smelled of the sea. Fairwind looked out, seemed to steel his nerves, pulled up the collar of his undershirt up and over his mouth and nose, and ran out into the open. Shaw didn't follow immediately, waiting for the _twip_ and _thunk_ of an arrow flying out and missing both of them before ducking out.

Shaw hadn't been entirely educated on the details of the blight—it was much more Steelspark's forte than his—but he knew the important parts of it. The current strain, one last used at the Battle for Lordaeron, dissolved one from the inside out. "We still don't know exactly why," Steelspark had said, explaining the new information the gnome researchers had on the blight. "especially since it seems to affect the dead as well as the living, but as long as you don't breathe it in too much, and if you wash yourself off with water after external contact, you should be fine in the long term!" However, reading reports on the affects of blight and experiencing them firsthand were entirely two different things.

Experience would always be the best teacher; blunt, perhaps harsh, but never cruel. That being said, Shaw felt as if he would have been fine in life if he never had to experience it. The quick crossing of the courtyard felt like it took several minutes, although it took at most thirty seconds. His eyes stung, his lungs burned, with an arrow breaking through the thick fog often enough that it kept Shaw's blood pounding in his ears.

Making it to the gates of the manor filled Shaw with a deep sense of relief. Fairwind had made it out unscathed, now preoccupied with seemingly attempting to hack up a lung, arm propped up against the wall to steady himself. Shaw didn't blame him, pulling down Fairwind's kerchief and taking deep breaths of fresh air, doing little to immediately soothe the pain. He wiped at his watering eyes. The arrows had stop raining down onto the courtyard, Shaw realized as he turned back.

"That..." Fairwind's voice was hoarse. "...was my worst idea." He did a half cough, sounding more like a painful dry heave than anything else. "Ever."

Shaw didn't reply to that. A cold feeling in his stomach that made him wary of the situation. He looked out into the courtyard, up to the wall walk, squinting. With a sudden realization, Shaw hurried to grab Fairwind's coat collar, pulling him from the wall. Fairwind didn't have time to complain before an arrow hit where he once stood.

"Okay," Fairwind started, "I officially hate this place."

Shaw continued to pull Fairwind back until they were out of sight of the wall walk. "Catch your breath, we need to move." 

"We just going to leg it?" Fairwind asked.

"I don't know," Shaw admitted. If the two took their chances and made a run for the nearest Alliance outpost, they would be hunted down easily. Heading any other direction would guarantee their death wholly. "Options are limited."

"If we're delegating, I vote for not saying here."

"Deliberating."

"Whatever."

Shaw crept out of the safety of cover, looking up to the wall walk, waiting for an arrow to come as he slowly backed up. He was greeted with stillness, and he frowned. Giving chase, then. Unfortunate. He gestured for Fairwind to join him as he hurried down the hill.

People were expendable. Information, however, wasn't. SI:7 agents were held to a standard to put information, the information the Alliance often needed, above their own lives, and Shaw wasn't one to think himself above his own rules. This information was more valuable than an entire battalion's worth of lives, and Shaw would be doing a disservice if he didn't do his job.

Once the two had reached the bottom of the hill, Shaw came to a decision. "There are some Alliance troops on the outskirts of Gilneas, due south." He pulled the bag off his shoulder and tossed it to Fairwind. "Head there and get passage to Stormwind, get these documents into Wyrmbane's hands at all costs. If you get stopped, tell them I sent you. Be persistent, be adamant. I'll buy you some time."

Fairwind stopped. "You're joking."

"Now."

"Shaw," Fairwind pushed back, incredulous.

"You should listen to him, Kul Tiran," a snide voice called out, and Shaw turned to see Nathanos Blightcaller, standing at the keep's gate, armed with his bow and a sneer. "You will need all the help you can get once I'm through with the spymaster."

Shaw had half a mind to throw a dagger towards Blightcaller's head, but figured that it would be a poor move against someone that once held the title Ranger Lord. "How long has it been, Shaw, hmm?" He continued with a smug tone, taking down the hill at a leisurely pace.

Shaw glanced back to Fairwind, seeing a brief look of challenge across Fairwind's face, one that ultimately hardened with his sense of self preservation. "Go," Shaw repeated, turning back to Blightcaller.

"What about you?" Fairwind asked.

"I will make my own way back."

It was, at best, an unwarranted amount of optimism, and, at worst, a hollow lie. And they both knew it.

Fairwind didn't call him on it.

Shaw could feel Fairwind give him one last look, one that Shaw didn't need to see to know it mourned a loss that had yet to happen, before he spun on his heels and kept running. Shaw drew his daggers and kept his gaze on Blightcaller.

Blightcaller seemed... amused. He placed his bow against his back and drew his axes. "How noble," he mocked. "How long do you think you'll buy him before his blood soaks the earth?"

Shaw kept his expression steady. "Your arrogance precedes you, Blightcaller."

Blightcaller charged towards Shaw. Shaw let him do so, bracing himself for it. Once Blightcaller swung an axe, Shaw bounced back and ducked away from the blade, jamming his dagger up and finding the sleeve of Blightcaller's overcoat. Shaw threw his weight back onto his heels as Blightcaller swung again, meeting his next strike with his dagger. Blightcaller pushed against Shaw's dagger, making Shaw grit his teeth and push back harder.

The movement was distraction enough for Blightcaller to get a quick swipe across Shaw's abdomen. His leather padding blocked the worst of it, but it was still a damn good strike. With a clenched jaw, he narrowly avoided Blightcaller's next cleave, allowing him to jam his dagger between two ribs and his knee into the stomach. Shaw dragged the dagger out of him in a long, vicious movement as he moved back out of the ranger's personal space and melee range. Blightcaller hissed under his breath and swung in the way a desperate animal swiped at a predator, missing Shaw by a forearm's length.

Shaw briefly pressed the heel of his palm to his fresh wound as Blightcaller took a moment to gather himself. Shaw took a deep breath through his nose before readying himself again, looking to Blightcaller's face to see a barely restrained anger across it. A certain satisfaction came from that. "You delay the inevitable, Spymaster," Blightcaller said. "He will be dead before he makes it out of the forest. An embarrassment for your little enclave of spies, I assume."

"He's not one of mine."

Blightcaller scoffed out something that may have been a laugh. "I'm well aware of that, as well as your apparent proclivity of running off to debauch men in the woods."

Decades of training his poker face came into practice with that. He thought of Fairwind's constant remarks on feeling as if he was being watched throughout their time in Silverpine, and how Shaw had brushed it off entirely as just Fairwind's nerves. Shaw only narrowed his eyes and remarked, "you had nothing to say about that before the Third War."

Blightcaller harrumphed. "The embarrassment is when your reputation as a the brilliant spymaster will surely be tarnished when everyone finds out you've died to buy a bumbling idiot a few more minutes of breathing room."

Shaw didn't feel kind enough to point out that Blightcaller was the one buying Fairwind time by talking instead of fighting, due to his current open abdominal wound. "He's more competent than you may think."

Blightcaller scoffed, "oh, really now?"

"What, did you think that the tidesage relic just magically disappeared from the treasury?"

Blightcaller's expression hardened and he lunged for Shaw. Shaw let the forest's unnatural darkness cloak him to shadowstep, moving behind Blightcaller in a single breath. Unfortunately, that seemed to be the wrong call, as Blightcaller immediately jammed an elbow back into Shaw's stomach before throwing a surprising amount of weight into him in a body check. Shaw stumbled back, with Blightcaller kicking one of Shaw's legs out from under him to knock him onto his back.

Blightcaller bellowed out a laugh, looking down at Shaw. "You'd think," he started, "that a master of spies would be a bit more—"

His tirade was interrupted by Shaw swiping a leg from under him as well, sending him onto the ground as well with a curse on his tongue. Shaw rolled out of Blightcaller's range before getting into a kneeling position. "Steady on his feet?" Shaw supplied. "You were always too damn arrogant."

Shaw vanished into the long shadows of the trees, Blightcaller taking notice and throwing one of his axes towards where he thought Shaw was–two steps to the right of where Shaw vanished from. Shaw, having held still, watched the axe go flying past him and embedding into a towering pine a few paces behind. He took a quiet, pained breath of relief, pressing the heel of his palm to his wound once again.

Blightcaller rose to his feet with a scowl across his face. "You must be desperate, Shaw," he monologued, "hiding in the shadows to buy him more time? You can't have that have much faith in him, in that case." He paced across the clearing to retrieve his axe, Shaw leaning out of the way of Blightcaller's overcoat as he passed. He grasped the axe handle, Shaw taking the opportunity to stand and move as Blightcaller wrenched it free from the tree. Blightcaller was a ranger, an expert in tracking creatures down, and the less Shaw moved, the better off he'd be.

"What is he, anyway?" Blightcaller asked with a bored flourish of his axe. "A Kul Tiran captain? Just the Alliance's little errand boy to go and gather azerite?" Blightcaller's red eyes scanned the area as he spoke. "There must have been something of use to him if he's caught your eye." Shaw watched him run a thumb along the edge of his axe blade, smearing the clinging droplets of Shaw's blood across the metal. "Perhaps I'll kill him first, find out the answer that way, hmm?"

It was a poor attempt of a goad, to the point where Shaw was borderline insulted that Blightcaller even thought that would work. "I doubt he has any information of value compared to you, but unless your standards have dropped down to the ocean floor, you wouldn't be running around with a bumbling fool." Blightcaller started a gentle pace around the clearing, axe at the ready. Perhaps he just enjoyed hearing his own voice.

"Are you going to leave me waiting forever, or will you show your cowardly face?" Blightcaller scrapped a handaxe across the trunk of a tree. "I know you and your people like to sulk in the shadows, but even you must realize that you're failing to achieve anything by this."

Blightcaller edged closer, a careful saunter. He was listening, waiting for any hint as to where Shaw was, but he was still cocky about the situation. Shaw couldn't stand still forever, if not because Blightcaller would eventually call it and chase after Fairwind, then because Shaw would start dripping blood onto the grass soon. "You're going to be quite the asset to her, you know. I almost can't wait to deliver her to you," Blightcaller remarked. "Everyone sees her side eventually, I know you'll come around too." He paced like a caged animal, ready for any sort of indication as to where Shaw was. 

"Wouldn't that be a pleasant change of pace, you and I, on the same side once again?" Shaw took a sharp breath before he could stop himself, and Blightcaller's eyes snapped over to his direction. Light damn him to hell, Shaw thought as he held his breath. That had genuinely caught him off guard. "Do you feel the same? Why, wouldn't that be quite the concept," Blightcaller continued, heading towards Shaw. "Perhaps this will be easier than I thought."

Shaw moved his hand from his wound to his dagger, taking it firmly by the hilt as Blightcaller came ever closer. "Is that why you've stayed behind?" He asked, and Shaw took his time to carefully pull his dagger from it's sheathe. "Maybe your pride won't allow such a turn, but we can fix that. Maybe you'll help us with the young king as well, turn the phrase bleeding heart into something more literal."

Blightcaller took another step and Shaw lunged for him, intending this to end now. There was a sudden, sharp pain that ignited across his back as something slices it clean, tearing into him. It made him lose his balance, sending him scrambling to catch himself before he landed face first into the cold ground.

"I was in the middle of something," Blightcaller said, not to Shaw. Shaw propped himself on an elbow and a hand, his entire body singing with pain.

"You're wasting time," someone hissed behind Shaw. He looked over his shoulder to see a tall, imposing and cloaked figure. A warden, Shaw realized, the one that was raised. What was her name? He thought back to the few Darkshore reports that General Feathermoon passed onto him, when the night elves out there weren't icing out the rest of the Alliance entirely. "someone's getting away with information and you're here, playing _hide and seek."_ Moonwarden, Shaw realized. Her words were sharp and coated it in venom.

"Keep out of this," Blightcaller snapped. Shaw bowed his head; the strange wounds in the worgens, they were from a warden's glaive, _of course._ He squeezed his eyes shut. Light _damn_ it all. "We have a net gain here."

"Will she take it that way when the—"

"The plan will go off without a hitch," Blightcaller interrupted, anger growing. Shaw heard footsteps towards him, some shifting in front of him, and then there's a firm hand on his chin. His head is pulled up, and Shaw opened his eyes to be greeted with Blightcaller kneeling in front of him. Blightcaller looks Shaw over, a strange look across the ranger's face as he does so, before he turns his head and spits blood out onto the grass. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked back to Shaw. "Death is an inevitability, spymaster," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You'll see what we do as just in time."

Fixed with an indignant look, Shaw wrenched his chin free from Blightcaller's hand, and surprisingly, he let Shaw do so. A small concession that Shaw couldn't fathom the reason as to why it was granted. He knelt in front of Shaw for another moment, then two, before standing. "Get him inside, I'll deal with him after I take care of the other."

"You won't find him," Shaw said through gritted teeth. He said it, because it had to be true. It had to. He looked up, to Blightcaller, "you've lost this."

The corners of Blightcaller's mouth quirked up at that, red eyes on Shaw. "You're bleeding out, alone, no hope of making it out of this, and yet you still fight," he remarked. "Fascinating." With that, Blightcaller turned away, heading out into the darkness of Silverpine.

**Author's Note:**

> Tag, you're it, Sed.


End file.
